Mad Love
by ClassyAsBollocks
Summary: One day in the Ambiguous Stereotypical Locale Country, Ivan falls in love at first punch with a violent girl from the Hungarian Stereotype Sector. Sadly, his enthusiasm (and erection) scare her away, causing him to run through several other stereotype sectors in puruit of her. He encounter a Dutch drug dealer, an American border policeman, and a trio of ethnic minority assassins.
1. Chapter 1

**Disclaimer: My mind goes strange places.**

Ivan Braginski never thought that he would fall in love, mostly because he was an emotionally derelict man-child whose moods swung from childish to childishly cruel to absolutely batshit insane, so things like romance and candlelit baths and the old in-out weren't quite as high on his list of priorities as, say, breaking his foot off in the arses of people attempting to take advantage of him. Also, he had a habit of hefting a water pipe around on the off-chance that anyone had enough of a death wish and the titanium testicles to attack a guy who looked as though he'd been manufactured by Russian scientists via a combination of DNA stolen from Fedor Emilianenko and a grizzly bear for the sole purpose of avenging the angry dead of Stalingrad. Oh, and he had an odd habit of never taking off his scarf except to wash it and drank vodka as though it were water, so people had a tendency to rightly assume that he had a few toys in the proverbial attic. However, despite his idiosyncrasies, Ivan was in fact capable of being kind and loving, provided that one gave him the chance, made no comments on his nose and kept objects that could be used as a weapon out of his reach whenever he went into rage mode. And so, it wasn't surprising that the ingenuous Russian was lonely on the rare days when he wasn't introducing his pipe to the skulls of his enemies. Alas, that was all about to change…

It was a fine Friday afternoon in the land of Ambiguous Stereotypical Locale, which for all of you confused readers out there is a country which embodies not only inhabitants of every race, ethnicity and creed but settings as well, so that one could buy fresh lasagne from a place that looked exactly like a small Italian market and then walk less than a block to a place that looked exactly like Tokyo, complete with rampant Hello Kitty iconography and giant mecha fights. Anyway, Ivan left the incredibly cold and snowy area in which he lived that just so happened to look like Russia, and proceeded to walk five streets down to Hungary-town, which smelled of chicken paprikash and was swarming with many moustachioed men, because according to stereotypes, Hungarian men have impeccably-cultivated facial hair.

As Ivan stood there, rubbing his smooth face and wondering if growing a moustache would increase his air of intimidation, he was met with the sight of a woman with long golden-brown hair and verdant green eyes punching the ever-loving fuck out of an albino man so hard that he was knocked out of his shoes and sent flying several yards away into a conveniently placed wagon full of hay. His interest piqued, Ivan continued to watch as she pulled a heavy cast-iron skillet from within the contents of her apron, ran down the street, and proceeded to pummel the unfortunate man to within an inch of his life with it. As he watched this unmitigated act of violence, Ivan felt something swelling up to three times its size with each echoing clang of iron against flesh…His heart, you bloody perverts! (His penis only expanded to twice its size, which was still enough to make a horse standing next to him shake its head in consternation, but enough about that.) Ivan rushed forward, overcome by the need to drag the dangerous beauty by her hair into his house caveman style, only to be stopped by a well-placed frying pan to his face. In retrospect, perhaps it wasn't the best idea to come charging towards her at full-steam with a massive erection bulging through the front of his trousers…

Ivan fell back against the cobblestones, blinking in surprise as blood poured in rivulets from his nostrils. By the time he'd managed to stem the flow, the woman was long gone, the only thing to give testimony to her existence a small pink flower that had been affixed to her hair earlier and the battered albino guy from earlier.

"Yo mother-Russia, the name's Gilbert. Judging by your boner you're either really into Szalonna or you want Liz to ride your bologna pony," he said. "Please tell me it's the second one, because if not, I'm gonna have to call the cops."

Not bothering to spare a glance at the display case of meats that he was allegedly interested in for sexual purposes, Ivan snatched up the flower and took off in search of his lost warrior woman. Gilbert shook his head. "Dude's gonna get his dick ripped off and used as a toothpick," he muttered. "Awesome."

Soon enough, Ivan had managed to catch up with the eponymous Liz, who took one look at him, screamed, and kicked him in the crotch. Feeling something warm trickling down his trouser leg that he didn't want to think about, Ivan fell to the ground, although not before grasping onto the hem of her dress and accidentally tearing a good deal of it off.

"I can explain," Ivan began desperately. "You see, I was chasing you because you caused me to get an erection due to your-

His explanation was cut short by her slamming her foot into his face and once again sprinting away. Ivan sighed dreamily upon testing his teeth with his tongue and finding several of them considerably loosened. "I'm in love," he said happily. With that, he leapt to his feet and once again gave chase.

After five minutes of running, Ivan noticed that he was in an area filled with windmills, wooden clog-wearing cheese-makers, cheerful-looking prostitutes and hundreds of ravers danced spastically through the streets while hardcore music blared through the town speaker system. The air was heavy with sweet-smelling smoke and just to his left; the cheerful jingle of a doorbell sounded the exit of several giggling patrons from a bakery, who breezed past him while mumbling about brownies. Ivan scratched his head. "What sort of mystical free-state is this?" He wondered aloud.

"This is an exaggerated parody of the Netherlands. Mostly Amsterdam," said a tall, stoic-faced man with gravity-defying hair and a striped scarf looped around his neck. As he spoke, he pulled a pipe out his pocket, tapped a brownish-green substance into it, and blew a thin line of what was decidedly not nicotine into Ivan's face. "If anyone offers you a colourful pill, take it," he added.

"Er…Isn't that generally considered bad advice?" Ivan asked tentatively. "Of the getting date-raped and/or robbed variety?"

"Would a fellow wearer of the scarf of ass-kicking give bad advice?" The man asked.

Ivan took in the furtive red-rimmed eyes and vacant mien and decided that the stranger was right. "You're right Mr. Drug Dealer, free pills are a wonderful thing," he agreed.

"Hey, hey, hey, who the hell said anything about me being a drug dealer? Lars van der Meer is an honest name!" Lars shouted.

"Uhm, I sort of figured what with the fact that your coat is open, displaying bags of cocaine and ecstasy hanging in rows from its lining. Very nice jacket by the way, is it reversible?" Ivan asked.

"Thanks, and now that you've discovered my secret, I have to kill-Oh shit, there's a sale on rookwurst at HEMA, I gotta go." Without another word, Lars sprinted in the opposite direction while doing a mental tally of how much money he'd be saving as compared to his last shopping excursion.

Ivan stared blankly after him. "Wait, so does that mean I'm not going to die?" He shouted after him to no avail. Shrugging at the lack of response, he once again set off on foot after the elusive Liz.

Twenty minutes later Lars returned, his arms laden with several brown grocery sacks. Apparently, he'd made a few more stopovers along with his little trip to HEMA. "I saved up to twenty-six percent compared to my last bout of grocery shopping and where the hell did that Russian guy go?" Upon realising that there was an out-of-towner who knew his drug-riddled secret, Lars dropped one of the bags on his foot, which just so happened to contain dumbbells.

"Godverdomme." Still cursing, he began to hobble after the trail of flattened bushes and broken trees that Ivan had made as he crashed through the woods with no regard for the laws of physics, only to catch sight of his good friend/customer, Gilbert, who was looking rather the worse for wear and sporting a black eye.

"Hey man, you got the shit?" Gilbert panted as he rested his hands on his knees in an attempt to catch his breath.

Lars grunted, glaring into the distance. "Not now, I've gotta kill a Russian guy. He found out I'm a dealer," he muttered, strutting down the lane.

Gilbert rolled his eyes and fell into step beside him. "Dude, I'm pretty sure that by now everyone knows you're a dealer."

"How do you figure that?" Lars deadpanned.

"Your coat is open," Gilbert explained.

"…Wanna help me kill a Russian?"

"Oh hell yeah."

With that, the two pulled a pair of tinted shades out of their respective jacket pockets and put them on in a deliberately slow manner as they continued to strut down the road.

Meanwhile, through an increasingly convoluted series of events ranging from a car chase that culminated in several vehicles that weren't even Pintos exploding and Ivan being coerced by a group of people claiming to be Jehovah's Witnesses to form a human chain in order to help them steal cable, he was no closer to finding the source of his infatuation. However, he did manage to find himself lost in Americaville, which was a strange conglomeration of the U.S., Canada, and Mexico, and which was situated directly next to Caribbeancountry, as he discovered when he took five steps to the right and found himself going from a crowded metropolis to a peaceful island, much to his entertainment. Upon his discovery, Ivan began to step from one border to another with increasing speed, unaware of the border patrol officer watching him from the shadows.

"America, Caribbean, America, Caribbean, America, Caribbean, Ameri-GAH!" Ivan shrieked as a fist clocked him a good one squarely in the centre of his face, knocking him to the ground.

"Here in America we do not tolerate that kind of crap, SIR!" A militant voice shouted. Looking up, Ivan saw that the person who'd just punched him out was his old frenemy (emphasis on the enemy part of that portmanteau) Alfred Jones.

Pulling himself to his feet, Ivan snapped the bridge of his nose back into place with a loud crack and glowered at the blond man. "Since when were you a patrolman?" He demanded.

Alfred rubbed the back of his head. "Since last week. Sorry about the face punching, but it's illegal to jump from the America-Caribbean border more than twice."

"Oh," Ivan said shortly. Before Alfred could blink, he'd whipped out his water pipe and brought it down on his head with a resounding crack, causing it to be bent into the shape of Alfred's head, stray hair included. "Now we're even, da?" He asked.

Groaning, Alfred tentatively touched a palm to his scalp. Satisfied that the bleeding was minimal, he shook his head at Ivan. "No way dude, blunt force trauma isn't an equal exchange for a punch to the face. I'm afraid I'm gonna have to tase you."

"Wait, wha-

There was a crackling sound, followed by the distinctive odour of burnt clothing and Ivan crumpled to the ground as the neuromuscular incapacitation set in. "Are we even _now_?" He groaned.

Alfred grinned. "Yep," he said, stowing away his Taser and pulling Ivan to his feet. "So man, how's your hammer hanging?" He added conversationally, as though he hadn't just sent fifty thousand volts of electricity coursing through him.

Ivan looked at him confusedly. "Does the hammer represent my penis in this aphorism?"

"Uh-huh," Alfred confirmed.

"Oh, well then, I would like to put it in use with a pretty Hungarian girl that I scared away earlier today," Ivan said, looking rather wistful.

Alfred sat down on the curb and patted the space beside him. Ivan sat down, looking glum. "Wow man, you look really hung up on this chick," Alfred said. "How'd you scare her away, anyway? She catch sight of your face during daylight hours?" His laughter was cut off by Ivan slapping him on the back of the neck hard enough that Alfred left an imprint of his face embedded into the concrete when he fell forward.

Sighing, Ivan fished a bottle of vodka out of the pocket of his overcoat while Alfred picked bits of granite out of his face. "Okay, okay, for real, what'd you do?" He asked when he was finished.

Ivan sighed again after taking a long swig. "I came running at her while I had an erection. Then, when I caught up to her, I told her that she was the reason why I had an erection. Neither scenario sat very well with her." He tossed the bottle aside, accidentally knocking a random passer-by unconscious.

"Dude, I think that running towards someone with a boner is gonna be my new way of saying hello. And shit, no wonder she freaked out, you're hung like a horse! You didn't think that just maybe running at a girl with your 16-inch pork sword swinging in the breeze might be a little much?" Alfred demanded.

Ivan dropped his head into his hands. "I didn't think it was that big of a deal!" He groaned.

"Yeah well, apparently the woman of your dreams isn't into having her uterus poked during sex. Too bad, any girl who'd be okay with that must be into some seriously kinky shit…" Alfred trailed off, looking thoughtful. "Hey, how about I bring out some of my friends to help you find your lady love?"

Ivan looked up questioningly from his hands. "Friends?"

"Acquaintances?" Alfred attempted. Ivan raised his eyebrows.

"All right, they're my group of ethnic minority assassins!" Alfred admitted. "But they're still my friends, right guys?"

"No," a voice said flatly. Four figures stepped out of the shadows of the alley behind them, one male, two female, all wearing identical flat expressions, black trench coats and tinted shades, looking like extras from the Matrix franchise. The one with the black bob cut stepped forward, the ridged soles of her half-laced boots moving soundlessly against the ground. "As soon as your back is turned, we're gonna remove your spine with an ice pick," she said tonelessly.

Alfred frowned. "Well _that _ruined the surprise of my impending demise," he began, only to be interrupted by the buxom pigtailed female.

"I'll ruin your asshole with a broken bottle unless you hurry up and tell us what the hell this shit is about," she snapped.

"Yeah, dick pustule, we were doing something important before you called us over to help Anna Karina over here," the male added, scowling.

"And that was?" Alfred said dryly.

"Watching Yu-Gi-Oh Abridged."

Alfred shrugged. "Okay, I'll admit, that's pretty important and all, but I need you to help Ivan over here find his girlfriend," he said. "Do it and I'll let you guys have as much fun as you want tonight."

At the word fun, the three vanished once more into the depths of the alley. Ivan turned to stare at Alfred. "What exactly entails as fun to them?" He asked.

"Oh you know: Crocheting, baking, kidnapping businessmen and sending their remains in jam jars to their families…" Alfred ticked off on his fingers.

Ivan started. "What was that last one?"

"Baking?" Alfred attempted.

"Right; even I find the corpse jam to be overkill. Where'd you find those three again?" Ivan said.

Alfred's expression turned thoughtful. "Hm, good question. Lailani, Lina, and Lucas, that's the order that they spoke in by the way, are wayward teens from the Philippines, Puerto Rico, and Guam. They're all related somehow; cousins I think. Anyway, I bought Lailani and Lucas off of this Spanish guy, but he didn't wanna let go of Lina for some weird reason. Something about her being the youngest, which I found creepy, so I kicked his ass and took her along. I mean, they came in threes, might as well collect them all, right? So yeah, I think he was their uncle or something. I dunno. I had Lina's half-brother for a while, too, this Cuban guy named Ramon, but he moved out. Couldn't stand the sight of my face or some shit like that. Anyway, they work for me as my clean-up crew."

"Oh. Okay. Why do they dress like that?" Ivan asked.

"It looks cool," Alfred explained.

Before any other strange secrets could be divulged, who else should happen to ride by on a bicycle but Liz? Ivan leapt to his feet, looking ecstatic. "Please, just hear me out!" He shouted after her.

Liz stopped the bike, eyebrow cocked at a jaunty angle. She folded her arms . "Fine. I'm listening."

There were so many words that Ivan wished to say. How he thought that her fighting prowess was the most beautiful merging of muscle and mind that he'd ever been privy to. How her hair whipping behind her as she rearranged people's faces with her fists reminded him of a golden river. Unfortunately, what he said was "You look really good with blood on your face and I want to see you covered in it while I dick you like a bear in heat." She was gone in two seconds flat.

Ivan sighed heavily as Alfred clapped him sympathetically on the shoulder. "Probably should've left out the blood. And the dicking. And the bear. Especially the bear. Everyone knows that things are worse with bears," he advised.

Ivan pinched the bridge of his nose. "_Now _you tell me."

Alfred grinned. "Well, if it's any consolation, I'm giving you some proactive help right now. There are two guys just on the outskirts of town, and one of them looks about as angry as a short-dicked bull during mating season," he announced.

"What about the second one?" Ivan asked.

"He's got what I call anger-by-proxy. He's not really mad at you, but because his friend is, he's ready to skull-fuck you until semen blasts out of the back of your skull like a bullet," Alfred said.

Ivan gave him a strange look. "That was very…colourful imagery," he muttered. "So, what do we do?"

Alfred gave him the thumbs-up. "You let them beat you ten ways until Sunday and when you've finally lost full control over your bladder from repeated kicks, I'll swoop in and be the hero! You might wanna drink some cranberry juice after this, because you'll be pissing blood for a few weeks," he said as an afterthought.

Before he could tell Alfred to go fuck himself, Ivan found himself face to face with Lars and Gilbert, who were wearing sunglasses and…Riding a pair of adult tricycles.

"Haha, what?" Alfred said.

"Shut up, they were out of bicycles," Gilbert muttered.

"I feel as though I should say something witty, but all I can think of at the moment is the theme to the American version of The Office. Is that normal?" Ivan asked.

Lars shrugged. "I dunno, all I can think about is that Russian duo t.A.T.u. You know, with the hot schoolgirl lesbians?"

"I hate to break it to you, but that was just a gimmick," Ivan informed him.

"Thanks for nothing assmouth, you've ruined my fantasies. Some of us prefer illusions to reality, you know," Lars groused.

"So, what're we gonna kick the piss out of each other for? Slept with someone's sister? Impugned someone's sexuality? Said someone's favourite band sucks?" Alfred said, cracking his knuckles.

Lars shook his head. "I don't even know anymore. The t.A.T.u thing really blew my mind."

"It's because Ivan found out that Lars deals drugs," Gilbert supplied helpfully.

Lars began to massage his temples. "Thanks for saying that in front of a cop. Really."

"You're welcome," Gilbert said.

Alfred shrugged. "I'll pretend I didn't hear that," he promised. "Now, can we fight already? I'm kind of getting a rage boner."

Ivan stared at him. "Wait, what?"

"And here is where we all agree that we didn't hear that. Agreed?" Gilbert said.

"Agreed," the other three echoed. An awkward silence followed afterwards, broken only by the occasional cough.

"So," Ivan began, "do we uh…Fight now?"

"I dunno, I'm kind of not in the mood anymore," Gilbert admitted.

"Yeah, it's like, the urge is just…gone," Lars added.

"Oh. Damn. I kind of wanted to fight. Like…Really wanted to. I'm very disappointed," Alfred said.

"Tough titties," Lars grumbled as he lit his pipe. "Anyone want a hit?"

Alfred whooped, pumping his fist in the air. "And there's my opening! Smoking marijuana is illegal on this street! Ethnic Minority Squad, GO!" He shouted.

"What the fucking what?" Gilbert said blankly as Lailani, Lina and Lucas jumped down from atop of a nearby building and landed in front of them in a flutter of trench coats.

Lars removed his pipe from his mouth, looked quizzically from it to the three free-lance teenage assassins, shrugged, and then added in some more marijuana. "I always knew this day would come. Let it be known that I regret nothing," he said.

Ivan hung his head. "Love has caused me nothing but problems today. And brought in three teenage ethnic minority assassins. That sounds like some sort of retarded Saturday-morning cartoon premise from the nineties."

"Dude, I'd watch the shit out of that," Alfred declared.

Ivan shrugged. "Well, nothing to do but sit back and watch the blood spill," he said cheerfully. Smiling his childlike smile, he settled himself onto the curb, a look of utter delight across his face. "I love blood."

**A/N: My mind goes strange places after I eat kiwifruit. **


	2. Chapter 2

**Disclaimer: Tacos rule!**

Silence dominated the street, a dull soundless roar that echoed in Ivan's ears. His eyes roamed over the three teens, who were standing stock-still, as though undecided in which course of action they ought to take. As they took a sudden step forward, music began to play, soft and introspective, piano-driven, with a hint of strings. It was an eerie melody, bringing to mind dark childhoods and as the tune changed pace to feature more of the mournful violin peppered by shrill staccato, he wondered where the hell the music was coming from. A closer glance at the trio revealed that he'd overlooked that Lucas was holding a portable stereo across his shoulders.

"I was sort of hoping for there to be an orchestra hidden on a rooftop or something," Ivan admitted. Lucas said nothing, opting instead to press the forward button, switching the ominous music box melody to a grinding cacophony of guttural screams, wailing guitars and pounding drums. Ivan grit his teeth against the tempo assaulting his ears and wondered whether he could get in close enough to smash the stereo.

Gilbert raised his eyebrows. "What's with the grindcore?" He asked confusedly.

"It's our theme music…" Lailani intoned.

"For kicking your ass," Lina finished.

Gilbert took one look at their admittedly meager heights and promptly dissolved into a bout of insane laughter, sucking in gulps of air to keep himself from choking on the perceived hilarity of being threatened by them. Between paroxysms of laughter, he waved his hand at Lars. "Oh man, can you believe that these little twerps are threatening us? They look like just entered their first year of high school!"

Lars shrugged. "Eh, I'm kind of just imagining myself doing the girls, to be honest," he said, and received disconcerted stares from all of those present. "What?" He asked defensively. "So I like my ladies a little on the younger side. Is that so wrong?"

Alfred began to edge his hand towards the standard-issued pistol in his holster. "From a biological standpoint, no. From a legal standpoint, hell to the yeah. You got anything else you wanna say buddy? Maybe something about some unsavory videos on your computer labeled "Baby-Faced Bubble-Butt Bitch Blows a Big Boner?" He said shrewdly.

"Oh for God's-I don't have to tell you shit," Lars snapped. "Whatever happened to the right not to incriminate myself, huh?"

"Oh, that's fine. I have plenty of ways to get you to talk…Quick, Lina, do your transformation thingie using that magical makeup compact the talking weasel gave you! Your outfit is the most revealing!" Alfred shouted.

Glaring at him, Lina grasped the front of her jacket closed. "Oh hell no you asspissing dickcunt, the day I let anyone besides my family see the shame of that weasel-bastard's 'gift' is the day I…

"Get a job as one of those bikini-clad background dancers on a crazy Telemundo program?" Lucas suggested.

"Yeah, let's go with that," Lina said, looking furtive.

Lailani raised her eyebrows. "_Are _you one of those background dancers?" She asked curiously.

Lina shifted her gaze to the right, embarrassment written across her face, which had gone pale. "I might've…once thought about it …STOP JUDGING ME!" She shrieked.

"Okay," Alfred said, "seeing as how you obviously have no problems with dancing half-dressed, commence with the cheesy stock footage magical girl transformation."

"But I only considered it because my family was po-Lina began desperately.

"I said. Commence. With. The. TRANSFORMATION!" Alfred shouted so loudly that he stirred up a massive wind that caused everyone to be sent tumbling down the street. After they'd all managed to regain their bearings, they looked up to see that Lina was holding a gaudy jewel-encrusted compact and looking disgusted.

"Super special awesome ultra special sexy Transformation Sequence go," she deadpanned. Nothing happened.

Alfred sighed. "Don't you remember what that talking weasel said? You have to say it with PASSION! For PASSION is the source of your mystical weasel-granted powers!"

"…SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME ULTRA SPECIAL SEXY TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE GO!" Suddenly, the entire street was enveloped in light as Lina began to spin around in the air glowing and naked in a light show, although for the sake of not incurring the wrath of the censors such parts as her nipples and whatnot were obscured. All manner of sparkles and blooming flowers and hearts and shiny bubbles flashed in the backdrop as a pole appeared out of nowhere, which she proceeded to dance on whilst ribbons enveloped her and synth pop featuring such pithy lines as "Do you believe in and life after love?" played. After two full minutes of this insanity, the light show finally ended and she struck a dramatic sexy pose while wearing several scraps of lavender and white cloth that served as some sort of fetishized Lolita outfit and holding a massive halberd.

"Da-da-da-ta-ta-ta! May your balls shrivel and your semen dry up. May your desires go unsatisfied. For one can only look upon but never touch…Pretty Girl Soldier Sexy Jailbait! By her powers of having just finished puberty, her fifteen will get you twenty! So keep your hands to yourself, you dirty fuckers!" A voice shouted out of nowhere.

Ivan, who had procured a bag of popcorn from the Pathmark down the street, munched on the imitation-butter-covered kernels thoughtfully. "This is very entertaining and all, but I still haven't gotten any closer to finding the source of my admittedly unhealthy fixation," he remarked.

"Too bad, it's Lailani's turn to transform," Alfred said.

Ivan hung his head. "Fine…"

Stepping forward, Lailani raised what appeared to be a bedazzled cell phone up in the air. "SUPER SPECIAL AWESOME ULTRA SPECIAL SEXY TRANSFORMATION SEQUENCE GO!" She shouted, obviously not in the mood to have to repeat herself like her cousin before her had. Once more, the street was flooded with eye-searing light as she too went through the motions of spinning around in mid-air like one of those Skydancer toys whilst sparkles and bubbles and flowers and hearts and other such manner of stereotypically girly shit floated around in the background like confetti. However, when the strip pole dropped into view, she opted instead to interrupt her own transformation sequence in order to flip Alfred the bird before grasping onto it and performing a side-princess while the magical ribbons enveloped her and began to form her costume. Once again after a lengthy two minutes of censored glowing nudity and synth pop, Lailani stood before them while wearing what Ivan supposed was a nurse outfit, if he were to squint. In her hands was grasped a submachine gun.

"Da-da-da-ta-ta-ta! May you have an inappropriate erection and be looked upon with scorn! May you be escorted out of the E.R. by security! For one is never going to hook up in the CT scan with…Pretty Girl Soldier Naughty Nurse! By her powers of impractical hospital-wear, she will cause you uncomfortable arousal during your prostate exam! So hold onto your balls, cough, and think of Margaret Thatcher on a cold day!" The mystery voice boomed.

Ivan tossed the empty bag of popcorn into a nearby bin. "Can I go now?" He sighed, but Alfred shook his head.

"No can do, Lucas still needs to transform," he said.

Dropping his head in his hands, Ivan waved tiredly towards Lucas, who was looking at him uncertainly. "Just…Just do your power of greyskull thing," Ivan muttered.

Lucas pulled out a beer can. "MANLY MANLINESS ACTIVATE!" He yelled. Unlike the two girls before him, his transformation sequence was brief and to the point, involving little to no theatrics and only featuring him being shrouded in black flames while Pantera music played in the background and emerging fifteen seconds later dressed in an overcoat rife with what seemed like dozens of belts and zippers, steel-toed boots, spike-knuckled gloves, the works. He looked like the character Blade, an impression which was furthered when he unsheathed a straight sword that was strapped to his back and opened up his leather duster to reveal that it was lined with all manner of throwing knives, grenades, and other suitably awesome weapons. "All right ya cunts, line up so I can pound the shit out of you and then not call the next morning," Lucas said in a rumbling baritone.

"This is such bullshit. How come we're dressed like sluts and he gets the badass apparel?" Lailani said angrily.

"I'm more upset that his transformation sequence is eight times shorter than ours," Lina admitted. "How we haven't died yet in mid-spin I don't even know."

"Maybe your opponents are too busy trying to catch a glimpse of a nipple to think of just shooting you?" Lars suggested.

Before anything else could be said, Ivan stood up. "Okay, thank you for…Whatever this was, but I really ought to be going now." That being said, he began to walk in the direction of Nordicnation, seeing as how that was the only other route that Liz could have disappeared to.

Alfred scratched his head. "Well, this didn't go over well," he said. "I should've known that weasel was up to no good…" He looked uncomfortably at Lars and Gilbert, who had abandoned their tricycles in order to stare threateningly at him whilst cracking their knuckles.

"Aaaand the urge to kick someone's ass is back," Lars intoned.

"Let's let the hate build up before we murder him," Gilbert said.

Alfred held his hands up defensively as he began to back away. "Now, now, let's not do anything hasty," he said. He looked over towards his clean-up crew, who stared back at him with expressionless eyes. "A little help here?" Alfred asked.

"Hey guys, what's that line we always say whenever someone asks us for help or mercy?" Lucas said, stroking his jaw in mock-thought.

"Suck," Lina began.

"My," Lailani added.

"DICK," Lucas finished. He nodded towards the advancing Lars and Gilbert. "Just try not to get too much blood all over the place, we're running out of bleach," he told them.

"Fine with me," Lars said. "Pick a body part, Gilbert," he said as he continued to crack his knuckles menacingly.

"I'm kind of partial to feet…Oh, you mean to hit?" Gilbert quickly remedied when everyone looked strangely at him.

"Whatever," Lars grunted.

Grinning, Lucas pressed the play button on his stereo, which began to blare out Beethoven's Ninth Symphony. Sporting identical slasher smiles, Lars and Gilbert proceeded to beat the living hell out of Alfred to the beat of the song…At least until he remembered that he had super strength and he sent the both of them flying through a plate glass window with a single sweep of his arm. Greater detail would be given to the unspeakable violence that occurred, but we need to get back on to the topic of Ivan's love quest.

So, Ivan found himself wandering through a barren snowy landscape which looked similar in appearance to Lapland during the mid-winter season but was full of marauding Viking's hefting battle axes and drinking copious amounts of mead, because, you know, Nordicnation. Oh yeah, and there were some reindeer too, I guess.

One of the men at the forefront of the writhing crowd, a tall wild-haired blond who looked exceptionally drunk even by Viking standards, ran forward while shouting something about Valhalla and hot Valkyrie bitches only to be tripped up by his shorter companion, who then proceeded to begin strangling him with his own cape. This probably would've resulted in the man dying of asphyxiation if it hadn't been for a bullet suddenly being fired into their midst, which blasted directly through the temple of one of the Vikings, blowing his head into a pulpy red mass that resembled chunky salsa. There was the clicking of a trigger, and another round was fired, this one whizzing just centimetres over Ivan's head. A Warning shot.

As the well-oiled Scandinavian men scattered lest they be subjected to the one-hit kill that had felled their compatriot, Ivan wondered confusedly just why he was being shot at. He honestly couldn't remember having ever visited the Finnish sector of Nordicnation before…Unless he'd done so when drunk, in which case there was probably a very good reason as to why someone wanted to shoot him. He tended to get belligerent when he was smashed…Ivan was cut off from his reverie by another round flying past him, which lodged itself into the trunk of a tree. Whoever was shooting at him clearly intended to play a sadistic little game of keeping him on his toes with warning shots before sending a perfectly-placed round between his eyes…If his heart hadn't already been claimed by the brawling Hungarian, Ivan would've been quite enamored with his would-be killer.

There was the sound of a rifle being cocked and from out of the snow-covered undergrowth stepped a small blond-haired man clad in all-white winter gear, glaring at Ivan with twin pools of violet ice glimmering from within his face. Jamming the muzzle into Ivan's chest, his mouth twisted into a sneer.

"You think you're gonna start seizing whatever land you can get your borsch-covered hands on?" He spat. "Think we're gonna have another Winter fucking War? Cause guess what fuckface, I've been preparing for this day every goddam day of my life since I was twelve just so I could have the pleasure of sticking my rifle up your Commie ass and pulling the trigger! You'll never get your hands on my cross-country skis, Winter Olympics gold medals, or salmon fishing boats ever again or my name isn't Tino Väinämöinen!" His face settled into a pleasant, almost boyish grin. "So, what's your name you Chernobyl motherfucker? I like to know the names of the people that I'm about to kill, it feels much more personal, don't you think?"

Ivan blinked in consternation at Tino's rapid mood shift. "Er…Ivan Braginski," he said, cautiously pushing the rifle away from himself lest it accidentally go off and blow a melon-sized hole through his chest. "So, uh…Nice day, isn't it?" He attempted.

Tino nodded, smiling. "Fantastic day, actually. I've been doling out headshots like R. Kelly does pee all morning!"

"That's nice," Ivan said. "Say, what's your personal best?" He asked.

"Hm…About twenty-five in a day," Tino said, looking thoughtful. "And I do it all without the aid of a telescopic sight. I prefer the rifle's iron sight, no glare reflecting off of the scope lenses, you know?" He said brightly. "I can't tell you how many people I've shot because they presented themselves to me like a big glowing target. Ahahahahahaha!" His laughter was cute, tinkling, but with a distinct undertone of malice, and Ivan found himself joining in. It was rather disconcerting to find someone who out-crazied him, and the notion that there was someone as violent and unstable as, say, his younger sister Natalia, made him feel thoroughly wary. And outclassed. It was a strange feeling, and not particularly pleasant. Insanity was _his _shtick, damn it! Then again, he'd met an awful lot of insane people today…

Still giggling, Tino held his rifle up, much to Ivan's relief. "You know what, you're not bad Ivan! Do you mind if I join you on your journey? I'm sort of used to playing the adorable yet badass associate of a tall scary guy." He looked pleadingly at Ivan, and, unable to resist the puppyish stare, Ivan relented.

"All right. I could use a friend. And don't worry, I promise not to get the wrong idea and make out with you when we're both drunk and lonely," he assured Tino.

"And I promise not to grow so fixated on our friendship that I murder you and make a suit out of your skin!" Tino promised. A long, uncomfortable silence fell upon them for a while.

Then, Ivan nodded. "That is a good understanding to come to between friends," he said after a while.

Tino nodded as well. "Isn't it? It certainly would have come in handy for me three years ago!" He trailed off, looking despondent. "But it's okay, they never found the body!" Tino finished brightly. "So, where are we going?"

Ivan ran a hand through his hair. "What sector is beyond Nordicnation?"

Tino tapped his chin. "Germanicland, if I'm not mistaken," he said. "It's the land of the Sparkle Party and brutal policemen, so we need to be very careful."

"Can't we just kill anyone who gets in our way?" Ivan said petulantly.

"You've just read my mind," Tino answered. With that, the two of them hefted their respective weapons over their shoulders, whistling a merry tune and ready to kick some Germanic asses. If only they realized what awaited them there…

**A/N: This grows steadily more ridiculous the more I continue….**


	3. Chapter 3

**Disclaimer: What is this I don't even…**

Lederhosen. Dour, humorless expressions. Cobbled streets. Volkswagens. Lager. More lederhosen. Ivan wasn't sure whether the overwhelming aroma of beer and sausages hanging in the air was pleasant or cloying. After nearly getting run over by a red-faced man wearing a trachten and carrying a tuba who was screaming that he had to be at least twenty minutes early for his Oompah band practice, he decided that he would go with cloying for spite's sake.

Tino, in stark contrast to Ivan's bemusement, was completely in his element, by which I meant that he'd already shot a dirndl-clad barmaid, a muscle-bound wad of veiny manhood who bore more than a passing resemblance to a young Arnold Schwarzenegger, a little fat boy who had been stuffing himself full of käseigel and strudel, and a porno director who'd just been about to make a breakthrough in the lucrative field of on-camera fucking by involving prurient use of salad tongs, testicle kicking, schnitzel, car batteries, copious amounts of bodily secretions and a rubber chicken in his latest film which, thanks to Tino's magnificent aim, would not be filmed and set the new (terrible) bar for pornography.

Smiling, Tino closed his eyes and casually fired his rifle several more times, reducing six more people's heads into a mess of shattered bone fragments and grey matter. Looking over at Ivan, he sighed. "I shot seven times and only killed six people," he said sadly, looking at his gun with something akin to disappointment. Just then, an airplane fell out of the sky and landed with a crash just inches from him, its windshield spiderwebbed with cracks from the bullet that had sailed through it, lodging itself into the pilot's forehead.

Ivan scratched his head as he looked on at the smouldering heap. "Actually, it appears that you fired seven times and killed seven people…Two hundred fifty-seven if there were no survivors ," he calculated. Tino let out a whoop, pumping his fist into the air.

"Fucking SWEET!"

His celebration was cut short by the sudden onslaught of techno music thrumming through the air. It was enough to make Ivan's eyes throb, but still not as bad as the metal tempo that the teenage ethnic minority squad insisted on having as their background music for ass kicking. True, he still wanted to find the source of the techno music in order to give them a surprise colonoscopy with his water pipe, but that was par for the course. Ivan had to get his daily dose of violent beatings in, after all. Doctor's orders, for real.

His urge to kill was increased tenfold by the streets suddenly going dark, as though someone had blacked out the sun, only for the darkness to be rent apart by flashing strobe lights and acrid, glitter-laced mist obviously being spewed out of a fog machine.

"The fuck is this shit?" He shouted over the pounding bass and wailing synthesizers. To his surprise, Tino's face had gone white as chalk, and at his companion's horrified expression, Ivan swung his own gaze over towards whatever the Finnish man was seeing.

Whomever was approaching them had the shape of a well-built man, but was dressed as though he had only the vaguest idea of what humans considered socially appropriate to wear out in public. The miniscule leather shorts outlining a well-apportioned bulge were odd in and of themselves, but accompanied by the open vest exposing a pale, well-muscled chest and abdomen, lacy garters hooked onto thigh-length fishnet stockings, fire engine-red rubber boots, and coquettishly angled police cap, Ivan did not know whether to laugh, cry, or hide. He managed a strangled half-gasp before the flamboyant police officer's face was finally revealed from the sparkly miasma clouding the air.

Oversized white sunglasses partially obscured his features, which were well-carved and handsome, if not somewhat incongruous with the garishly scarlet blusher highlighting his high cheekbones. Combined with his strange choice of attire, the overall effect of the man's appearance was… overwhelming, to say the least, and more than a bit frightening.

Fortunately, before Ivan could dissolve into a fit of laughter, Tino beat him to it, the look of utter terror on his face quickly replaced by a smile so wide that it seemed as though the top of his head were in danger of falling off. Arms wrapped around himself as though he were attempting to ward off the sheer hilarity, he doubled over, eyes pooling with mirthful tears. Ivan winced slightly when he saw the look of fury on the policeman's face. Apparently, he did not take well to being laughed at. Or laughter in general.

"You dare laugh at me, Officer Ludwig Beilschmidt?!" He thundered over the thrumming techno beats.

Tino let out a pleased sigh, wiping his eyes. "Yes," he said honestly. "Do you truly expect _anyone_ to not completely lose their shit when they see your getup? Your face looks like you got hit in the face with a box of magic markers and you're wearing what's essentially a leather diaper. Where do you shop, the dumpster behind the local brothel?" He idly scratched the back of his neck with his rifle, pointedly ignoring the furious expression on Ludwig's face. "That _would_ explain why you brought the scent of used tampons along with you; at first I thought you were just on your period."

By now, Ludwig's left eye was twitching so violently that it looked as though it were going to explode from the socket and splatter them with a burst of blood and vitreous jelly like a macabre firecracker, and Ivan was attempting to subtly back away into a corner and failing utterly due to his height. "Do you know who you're speaking to?!" Ludwig bellowed, police hat slipping off of his impeccably slicked back hair as he pointed a finger shaking with rage tremors at Tino, who could not have possibly given less of a fuck even if he tried.

"Ludwig Beilschmidt, obviously. Dumbass," Tino added with a snort. "You just screamed your name loud enough so that people in the Moroccan sector could hear you, remember? Or did you give yourself an aneurysm while shrieking with impotent rage and somehow managed to remain standing?"

Gaping, Ludwig slid his hand down towards his gun holster. "I am the LAW, and the LAW must be OBEYED!" He shouted as he drew his weapon and pointed it at Tino and Ivan. Ludwig gritted his teeth when the two of them burst into laughter. "You fools, I am pointing a deadly weapon at you and you laugh?!"

"Yeah, a weapon of _ass obstruction_," Tino managed between guffaws.

Ludwig blinked. "What?"

Feeling rather sorry for the confused man, Ivan ceased his laughter in order to wave his hand towards the object clutched in his hand. "That's a dildo," Ivan explained gently. "A very nice one I'm sure, but a dildo nonetheless."

"I should've figured that Germanics literally use the law to fuck people over," Tino quipped.

Ludwig continued his rant, not about to let such a minor fact as waving around a big floppy pseudo-phallus in place of a gun make him step down from his soapbox. Once he got going with a tirade, he would see it through to the end, rubber penis be damned! "For the record, this was more likely than not a prank played on me by my deadbeat brother. Pay no mind to the dildo and let me read you your rights."

Ivan twisted the end of his scarf. "That's…That's easier said than done," he mumbled, eyes downcast. "I mean, really," he continued, "that thing would make Jenna Jameson's vagina shrivel shut in fear!"

Clamping his eyes shut, Ludwig inhaled shrilly through his nose. "Please," he begged, "please just let me read your-He was interrupted by a bratwurst smacking him in the centre of his face and sliding greasily down his well-oiled chest and onto the floor with a sound like a squeegee passing over a window.

"Boo, you fucking SUCK!" Tino heckled as he prepared to launch another sausage. "You have what's probably the only chance in your career to say 'Prepare to get fucked by the big dick of the law' and you choose to waste it so that you can blather about our rights?! " He demanded incredulously. He hurled the bratwurst with pinpoint accuracy, this time catching Ludwig in the groin. Tino burst out laughing. "Haha, I just hit your sausage with a sausage…"

Ludwig pinched the bridge of his nose. "Sir, if you keep this up I'm going to have to place you under arr-He was rudely interrupted by a wheel of harzer sailing over his head and crashing through the window of, ironically enough, a cheese shop. There was the glissando of breaking glass, the angry yowl of what sounded like several cats, and a cry of 'Holy schnit, right in the face!' that made Ivan wince.

"Er, perhaps we should-He attempted.

"Fuck this place up?" Tino said excitedly.

"I was going to say cooperate with the authorities, but your plan sounds way more fun," Ivan admitted. Madman's grin in place, he smacked his water pipe into his palm with a soft thwack. "It's time to take out the euro-trash," he said ominously.

Ludwig raised his eyebrows. "You _are _aware that you are also European?"

Ivan merely waved his hand in dismal. "Most of Russia is in Asia. Nice attempt though."

"You get an A for effort and a B for beating," Tino added, cocking his rifle.

Sighing, Ludwig raised his hands his hands up in defeat. "May I at least say a few words before you forcibly create me several new orifices?" He requested.

"Since you've just given me the brilliant idea to violate you with my gun, sure, say a pithy few last words before I shoot another hole up your ass," Tino offered. Ivan mentally slapped himself in the forehead for daring to get involved with the batshit insane younger man and began to tally just how many lampshades made out of scalps that Tino had in his house.

"Twelve," he said brightly.

Ivan's eyes widened at this apparent display of psychic powers. _Holy crap on toast. _

The barest of smiles crossed over Ludwig's lips. Straightening himself up to his full height, he tilted his head back, spread his arms, and shouted "Ist das nicht eine Schnitzelbank?"

Much to Ivan's surprise, the music went silent in order for the answering "Ja, das ist eine Schnitzelbank" to be sung back. Even more confusing was the sudden appearance of a wavy-haired, bespectacled man wearing a black vinyl leotard and ballet boots rolling in through the contrived fog on a wheeled grand piano.

"What the hell ass? Why is everyone here wearing bondage gear?" Tino demanded, looking ready to start doling out headshots due to sheer irritation at the lack of adequate footwear.

"It's Fetish Friday," the newcomer explained in a voice so full of hauteur that Ivan could have sworn that the air around him froze and shattered upon exposure. It was the sort of boredly contemptful voice that baristas around the world experienced uncomfortable dreams about. "I am-

"No one gives a fuck who you are!" Tino snapped.

"Roderich Edelstein," the man finished dryly. "Really now, has no one ever taught you manners?"

"Not as much as you've been taught to love the taste of your own ass, apparently. You probably jerk off in the mirror and call your own name during sex."

Roderich pushed his glasses further up his nose. "Do you have any idea just how crass you sound?" He asked, looking affronted.

Tino flipped him off with both hands. "Do you have any idea how much cameltoe that leotard is giving you? Seriously, get that thing out of your vagina before you get a yeast infection, Frau Cum-barge," he retorted. Suddenly looking incensed, he aimed his rifle from Roderich to Ludwig and back to Roderich again. "Just the sight of you two clit foragers makes me want to murder-fuck the both of you in a dumpster. God, I fucking hate you two and your horrible choice in shoes…"

Seeing that Tino had hijacked a plane full of dynamite and steered it into a spiralling nosedive straight into crazy-town, Ivan realised that there was only one thing to do: Sit back and watch the ensuing explosion. Smiling happily, he leaned against the wall of a cobbler's and waited for the magic to unfold.

To his deep disappointment, Roderich stepped forward, holding his hand up in a placating manner. "I shall now express my utter disdain for your horrid lack of etiquette with music," he declared.

Ludwig groaned. "Please not more Chopin," he muttered.

Roderich sniffed. "I'll have you know that Chopin is brilliant, thank you very much. But no, this is something…Different." With that, he pulled up a piano chair that was there for convenience's sake, sat down, and allowed his fingers to glide skilfully over the ivory keys of the grand piano that he had made his entrance on. It was a sprightly tune, bright and catchy, and Ivan found himself unconsciously bobbing his head along to it. At least, until Roderich began to sing…

"Oh yes, you're uncultured and broke,"

"I'll laugh at your life,"

"While I'm doing your wife,"

"Because your tiny schlong is a joke!"

"My piano, it sounds like God's symphony!"

"And my microphone smells like the poor."

"They put bread in my cup and their lives all suck."

"If I quit this gig, they lose all interest in living, since life would have no meaning,"

"And they'd blow their brains out on to the floor."

"La, da, di, da, da!"

"La, di, di, dolly da!"

"Down on your knees!"

"I'm the Piano God!"

"Pray to the songs that I've sung!

"Tell me I'm too good to work here!"

"Then put my balls right on your tongue!"

Banging the keys once more, Roderich spun around abruptly and raised his eyebrows. "Well, what did you think?" Silence, thick and heavy enough to cut with a knife reigned for the next several minutes, broken by Ludwig's reaction, which mirrored that of Ivan and Tino's.

"What the hell was _that_?!" Ludwig barked.

Roderich rolled his eyes. "A song, obviously. Does anyone have any actual comments?"

A pin dropped. A cricket chirped. A wino puked in a gutter. Then, Tino strode over towards Roderich, hands behind his back and a strange little half-smile playing across his lips.

"Your song made me have an epiphany," he said. "A realisation," Tino continued in a soft voice that nonetheless carried to the ears of everyone present. "The realisation that sometimes, guns aren't always the answer." His eyes drifted closed, then opened partially, giving him a cold, reptilian appearance, all while his lips remained twisted into that smile. "Sometimes, it's just more satisfying to beat the ever-loving fuck out of a man with your bare hands and leave him alive to tell the tale of why he has to piss in a cup to his grandchildren."

With that, he lashed out his right arm and elbowed a crack into Roderich's face, dropping him to the ground like a sack of rocks only to stomp a crater into his chest without so much as a pause. "Fuck you and the piano you rolled in on. I'm FINNISH, MOTHERFUCKER!" Tino bellowed. Still grinning, he then proceeded to pour over the other man like a bucket full of felonious assault, punching, kicking, biting, scratching, and generally maiming every inch of Roderich that he could reach and several that hitherto he hadn't even known existed. Within moments, the two of them were enveloped in a cartoonish dust cloud full of the thump of knuckles against flesh and what appeared to be several pints of blood spraying in every direction.

Ludwig blinked in astonishment. "Those kicks. It's like that Finnish boy is the FBI and Roderich is the door to a meth lab," he said hollowly, oblivious to the droplet of blood that splattered against his cheek when Tino threw a flying knee-kick straight into Roderich's eye.

Ivan nodded in agreement. "Da. This is the fight that I'm going to close my eyes and think of when I finally get to sex up that lovely Hungarian girl."

Snapped out of his stupor, Ludwig stared confusedly at Ivan. "Hungarian girl? Do you mean Elizabeta?" He asked.

"Uh-huh. How do you know her?" Ivan added, his eyes narrowing as a frightening aura began to crackle around him.

"Er," Ludwig began carefully, "she's Roderich's ex-wife…." He trailed off as Ivan began to let out a series of ominous kolkolkols.

"I see," he murmured, running a finger across the gleaming silver of his pipe. "It looks as though I and our piano-playing friend have something to discuss."

"Right," Ludwig said slowly as the temperature began to plummet.

Back in Americaville, a bruised and bloodied Gilbert managed to raise his head off his hospital bed despite his spinal injury. "You know how animals can sense a tsunami before it hits? I'm like that, but with awesome things. Some awesome shit is about to go down," he muttered.

Lars, who was nude but for a white sheet drawn up over his hips, threw him an unimpressed look. "I'd say that something awesome has already happened," he declared, gesturing towards the two equally unclothed teenage girls curled up on either side of him, fast asleep.

Gilbert stared at him bemusedly. "How the hell did I not notice you having a threesome?"

"You were doped up on pain meds."

"Oh. How'd you manage to have sex with them with, anyway? I thought Alfred crushed your pelvis with that last kick?"

Lars grabbed his pipe from the bedside table, brought it up to his lips, and took a long drag. "Where there's a will there's a way."

He was about to say more, but was interrupted by a Dragonball Z-style blast going off in the distance and shooting up into the sky with enough force to cause the entire building to shake on its foundation. It sounded like a million thunderbolts rolled into one enormous clap, and let out an eerie violet light that stained the sky and cast an eye-searing glare across the windows. There was another tremor, as though something were stirring beneath the earth, a grating screech, and then silence.

"What the fucking balls?" Gilbert said once everything returned to normal, wincing at how loud his voice sounded in the wake of the ensuing stillness.

Lars shook his head, looking equally bewildered.

Sighing, Gilbert threw himself back down onto the pillows, his back screaming in protest. "I just missed something awesome. Something that'll probably never happen again, and I missed it! FUCK!"

"Sucks to be you," Lars deadpanned, and began to fiddle around with his I.V. drip. "Man this morphine is the shit…."

"Goddam ephebophilic druggie," Gilbert grumbled.

**A/N: It was pineapple this time…**


End file.
